Illusive Witness

by S. Y. Thompson

  “We need to get out of this lightning, plus there’s another one out there...a woman.”

  “I know. I saw her at the motel.”

  She drew back and Ruth saw the blood. It covered the front of Emma’s shirt, soaking through the material like ink on a page. “You’ve been hurt!”

  “What?” Emma followed her gaze. “Uh, no. I mean I pulled my stitches loose, but I haven’t been shot.”

  Once she’d convinced Ruth that she was all right, Emma took her hand and pulled Ruth back the direction from which she’d come. Ruth trusted her to know what she was doing and followed along without complaint. There wasn’t much point in talking in this downpour anyway. They had only gone a few feet when the woman Emma mentioned came out of the darkness moving quickly. Ruth saw the barrel pointed toward them and heard the woman’s yell of fury as she came. Rounds went off and fire burst from the end of the weapon. Emma shoved Ruth aside and returned fire as she hit the ground. Ruth pulled her face out of the mud and looked back for Emma. She squatted nearby, taking refuge behind a fallen log. The female assassin had disappeared.

  “It’s over,” Emma shouted into the night. “Your boss is dead.”

  A pause and then, “You’re lying.”

  Emma sounded funny to Ruth’s ears. Her voice was a little too high and she panted as she spoke. Ruth couldn’t see her very well except when the lightning flashed and then it was like a strobe effect, but she thought Emma might be seriously injured. Fear like she’d never imagined tore through Ruth, ripping her soul in half. Ruth desperately needed to get to her, to see for herself that Emma was okay. She rose onto her knees, but Emma caught the movement.

  “No,” she said harshly. “Stay there.”

  The voice came from the night again. “If the Don is dead, where’s his body?”

  “A few feet behind us,” Emma responded, breathless. “He got hit by lightning.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that? Where’s Marcus?”

  “Marcus is dead. He tried to kill me and I shot him.”

  Ruth noticed that Emma didn’t mention Carlotti again and rushed to verify her story. “It’s true about Carlotti. If you don’t believe us, check for yourself.”

  Silence met her words and Ruth thought the woman was just waiting for another chance to kill them. Then she slowly edged into view, coming out of the darkness and fog like a wraith. Long black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, none the worse for wear even in the rain. The woman kept her weapon trained on Emma and Ruth, but slowly worked her way back over the terrain. It didn’t take long before she spotted the dead man. Cold and emotionless, the woman knelt beside the body and took something from his inside jacket pocket before she stood and put her weapon away. Whatever she had taken from Carlotti went into the pocket of her cargo pants.

  “I don’t kill unless I get paid.”

  The next thing Ruth knew, they were alone. She rushed over to Emma, dropping to her knees in a puddle of water. One look at the pain on her face told Ruth the news wasn’t good.

  “Where?”

  Emma appeared suddenly exhausted. Her eyes slipped closed and then fluttered open. “My shoulder.”

  In the darkness with soaked clothing, Ruth had trouble spotting the injury. When she did, she gasped in horror. Blood covered the upper left side of Emma’s chest. The backpack strap on that side was frayed from the round passing through. Instinct made Ruth press down on the wound with palm of her hand in an attempt to stop the blood flow.

  Emma cried out and fell against her and Ruth jerked her hand back as though scalded.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Oh, God. Now what?”

  “We still have to get out of this storm,” Emma muttered in tones so low Ruth had to lean forward to hear.

  Ruth slipped her arm around Emma’s waist and helped her to her feet. She was dismayed by how Emma’s knees buckled with every step they took, but recognized the need to find shelter. They didn’t want to wind up like Carlotti. The pack hindered Emma’s movement and Ruth worried it added to her pain so she stopped long enough to remove the burden. Ruth slipped the pack over her own shoulders and then slung Emma’s right arm around her neck. She started in the direction Emma had previously encouraged her to travel. Ruth was more frightened at Emma’s condition than she had ever been in her life. Even running from Henry, kidnapped by Carlotti’s men and then chased into the woods couldn’t compare.

  “Where to?” Emma didn’t answer. “Come on, Marshal Blake. Wake up. Tell me where we’re going.”

  Emma shook her head and appeared to focus, but Ruth didn’t know how long that would last. She held her left arm tight against her body. “Through there,” she answered, nodding toward the woods.

  Chapter Twenty

  A HULKING SHAPE came slowly into view, darker even than the surrounding woods. Ruth tugged Emma toward the structure, at times half dragging her. She pulled Emma through the doorway, greeted by the usual stench of a park’s barely cleaned bathroom. Ruth was just grateful to be out of the storm. She tugged Emma over to one wall and helped her to sit on the cold tiles. Emma leaned back against the wall while Ruth removed the backpack and set it to the side. Outside, the rain still pelted down, the noise loud as it echoed through the bathroom.

  Ruth knelt between Emma’s knees, clasping a cold hand between her own. She chaffed the flesh, trying to impart some warmth. Emma’s eyes had closed as soon as she sat.

  “Open your eyes, Emma. I need you to talk to me. You have to stay awake.”

  Emma complied somewhat reluctantly. Her lips appeared dry despite her being drenched by the storm. “When did you get so forceful?”

  The words were weak, but Ruth felt encouraged by the attempt at humor. “Must be your sparkling personality rubbing off on me. I need to look at your wound. Can you help me?” Maybe she could keep Emma conscious if she got her moving and talking.

  Emma reached up to unbutton her shirt, but her hand fell weakly back to her side. She seemed to grow more frail every passing moment. Ruth took over, trying to hide her worry.

  “Here, let me get that. Were you able to get hold of anyone?”

  Ruth removed Emma’s jacket before she unfastened the shirt and pushed it away from Emma’s wound. A black hole punched through her body between the arm and chest. The wound was deep red and angry around the edges, but had stopped bleeding. Ruth looked at the back of Emma’s shoulder and found a larger exit wound. Blood streamed down her back in a steady flow. She thought rainwater might make the volume seem greater than it really was.

  “Yeah, Waild sent a team toward us as soon as he found out they were tracking us.”

  Ruth froze in surprise. “How’d he know?”

  “Terry. Long story.”

  Speaking took a lot out of Emma, but Ruth had to keep her talking. She was concerned that if assistance didn’t arrive soon, Emma would die from either shock or blood loss. The thought of those sweet blue eyes closing forever brought a lump to her throat that Ruth had difficulty swallowing past. With a realization that was as staggering as it was unexpected, Ruth acknowledged her past feelings for Jordan were truly superficial. What lingered was the sting of her betrayal and Ruth’s own guilt for killing her. That was as it should be.

  Her growing emotions for Emma were a different matter entirely. The danger from Carlotti was over and Ruth wanted to believe that she and Emma could explore their undeniable attraction. In order for that to happen, she had to keep Emma alive.

  “We need to stop the bleeding. I have to remove your shirt so I can use it to apply pressure.”

  Ruth started to suit her words to actions, but Emma stopped her. She shook her head and said, “There’s a first-aid kit in the bag.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Ruth had known of the emergency supplies Emma hauled around with her. The Girl Scout motto “be prepared” paled in comparison to Emma’s careful planning. Feeling like an idiot, Ruth unclipped the flap and dug inside the wet canvas. The first-aid k
it had migrated to the bottom along with another hard object. Ruth identified the handgun by feel. She removed it from the rucksack and placed it on the floor beside her...just in case.

  After withdrawing and opening the medical kit, Ruth spotted a large bandage sealed in plastic. The label offered the reassuring words “compression bandage.” She tore open the packet and turned to find Emma watching her.

  “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

  “It’s okay. Is the bullet still in?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s a big hole in the back.”

  Emma nodded her head. “That’s good. Go ahead, I can take it.”

  Her accent was more pronounced and Ruth realized it came through strongest when she was tired or hurt. Ruth found it endearing. It also provided a topic of conversation that might prove a distraction. Leaning close, Ruth steeled herself to inflict more pain on her stalwart protector.

  “You never told me where you’re from.”

  “Georgia. Savannah, actually.”

  Emma pronounced the word “Jo-jah.” Ruth smiled and then grimaced as Emma tensed. She pressed against the wound in the back with her palm while looping the bandage under Emma’s armpit with the other hand. She wrapped it tightly to apply more pressure.

  “A southern girl, I knew it.” Ruth affixed the bandage in place. She took a sling from the kit and slipped Emma’s arm into it. “What made you join the Marshal Service? Don’t you get tired of protecting bad guys?”

  While she waited for Emma to answer, Ruth covered the re-opened abdominal wound. She couldn’t do anything about the stitches, but she could prevent anything more from getting into it. That was when she noticed Emma’s hands. Ruth inspected her palms. Red and raw, the injuries resembled rope burn. She shook her head and wound gauze around them until Emma could get checked out at a hospital.

  “Most people aren’t bad. They’re just witnesses to bad things. Besides, if not me then who?”

  Ruth finished her task and gazed thoughtfully at Emma. She seemed so weary and had dark circles under her eyes. In the time they’d known one another Emma had been ambushed, shot by her own partner and pushed Ruth aside to take the bullet meant to kill her. Throughout their entire ordeal, Emma had never once complained. She really was extraordinary.

  Along with awareness, Ruth felt some of the ice encasing her heart tear loose. The cold was created by all the recent duplicity, a barrier protecting her from danger and heartbreak. Emma thawed the snow deep within, even in her fragile condition. Perhaps, precisely because of it.

  Who guards the guardian? Ruth wondered. In this instance, she did. Ruth realized Emma had started shivering and worried she was going into shock. She quickly refastened Emma’s shirt. The jacket was too wet and lightweight to do much good so she delved back into the go-bag. Emma’s suit jacket was crusted in dried blood but at least it was fairly dry.

  Ruth sat down beside Emma, ensuring the pistol was within easy reach. Then she spread it over Emma and pulled her against her side.

  “Relax against me, baby. Let me warm you up.”

  She felt the smile against her neck and pulled away just enough to see Emma’s expression.

  “Baby? And here I thought you didn’t like me much.”

  “Oh, I like you fine,” Ruth admitted. “Just don’t expect me to eat pork crackling, whatever that is.”

  “How about grits?” Emma teased.

  “Yuck,” Ruth responded, unable to tear her gaze away from full lips so near her own.

  “Biscuits and gravy?”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “Mashed potatoes and black-eyed...”

  Ruth couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. She captured Emma’s lips in a kiss as searing as it was tender. Softly, slowly, she tasted Emma’s sweetness. She easily remembered the familiar tingling sensation generated in her stomach the first time they’d kissed. This was so much more intense. Emma’s lips parted, encouraging Ruth to deeper passion.

  When it finally ended, Ruth put her hand on Emma’s cheek and encouraged her to rest against her shoulder. The driving desire to continue what she’d started gave way to the urge to take care of Emma.

  “Does this mean you’d be willing to go out with me sometime? Now that Carlotti’s dead, you’re free to go back to your normal life.”

  “I might be persuaded, but you have to do something for me.”

  Emma sighed dramatically, but Ruth thought it was more for effect than anything. “You always have a condition. Fine, what is it?”

  “Stop getting hurt.”

  “I think I can do that.”

  They sat together for the next half hour, sharing body heat. Ruth stroked Emma’s damp hair and felt her breathing even out. She allowed Emma to sleep now, sure that she wouldn’t bleed to death. Eventually, the storm abated. The thunder died away to an occasional, but distant crash before vanishing altogether. The rain slowed and then stopped. Ruth couldn’t hear it hitting the building anymore.

  It was time to leave their sanctuary. She dreaded forcing Emma into motion, but she needed medical assistance. Easing away, Ruth donned the backpack before waking Emma.

  “Wake up, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Emma was groggy at first, but gamely attempted to stand. She fell back on her butt so Ruth helped her up. Ruth slid the jacket over Emma’s right arm and left shoulder before retrieving the pistol. Once they got back to the motel, Ruth would use her cell phone to call an ambulance.

  The motel wasn’t far from the restroom facilities. Emma helped Ruth find the way back, but it was slow going. Ruth’s feet squished in her sneakers and now that they were safe, she discovered she was famished. First order of business was an ambulance, then dry clothes and food.

  Unexpectedly, a beam of light hit Ruth in the face. Recent events made her raise the pistol without thought.

  “U.S. Marshals. Don’t move.”

  “SO THAT’S THE end of it,” Alan Waild said. “We retrieved three bodies from the motel and surrounding woods, but there was no sign of the woman.”

  Emma sat propped up in the hospital bed speaking with her supervisor. Still groggy from the surgery, she couldn’t quite see his eyes behind the black frames of his glasses. A large, bulky bandage covered her left shoulder and the stitches in her abdomen were replaced. Medical staff had eschewed the need to wrap her hands, insisting the minor abrasions would fare better with fresh air. The hospital gown concealed the stomach wound, but Emma noticed that her supervisor’s gaze wandered frequently to her shoulder.

  As usual, he wore an impeccable three-piece suit. To his credit, Waild hadn’t faltered at the sight of Ruth occupying the chair beside Emma, holding her hand.

  “What about the ledger?”

  “With irrefutable proof of Carlotti’s activities, in the form of his dead body, we obtained a search warrant. The book was right where you said it was. It’ll take time to analyze, but preliminary indications are that he kept extensive records. A lot of high level criminal enterprises are about to fall.”

  “That’s good news, sir.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. You’ve done a great job here, Marshal Blake. You too, Ms. Gallagher. I want to thank you for what you’ve done. I know it can’t have been easy.”

  Ruth didn’t reply, but Waild didn’t seem to expect it. Ever the classy guy, he made sure to pull the door completely closed as he made his exit. Emma squeezed Ruth’s hand.

  “You’re awfully quiet. Flashbacks about hospital rooms?”

  Ruth smiled. “At least this time someone else is lying in the bed. No offense.”

  “None taken. Listen, I’ll be off duty for a while until my shoulder heals. Is it too early to ask you to have dinner with me when I get out of here?”

  “Grits and biscuits and gravy?”

  Emma laughed, vaguely recalling that conversation. “You forgot the mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I worry ab
out making all the dinners for the next little while?”

  Ruth leaned closer and Emma gulped, reading the desire in her eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. In fact, if you want, I’d like it if you stayed with me until you’re feeling better.”

  There was no chance Emma could refuse. “I’d like that.”

  “Good, because it’s my turn to watch over you.”

  About the Author

  S. Y. Thompson resides with her menagerie of animals. She fills her days with writing and playing with her Yorkie and six cats.

  More Books by S.Y. Thompson

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  Lee Grayson is a nature photographer whose father is a senator in New York. She’s never felt close to him and her faith in people as a whole is lacking. She moves to the town of Harmon deep in the Adirondack Mountains after inheriting her great aunt’s estate, but the local townspeople seem a little...off. Then she meets Ranger Jamison Kessler and learns there’s a killer running rampant around the area. Jamison seems to be hiding things from her and Lee is starting to become suspicious.

  Lee discovers that her aunt was a central part of this community and that she possesses the woman’s unique abilities. She and Jamison are falling for each other, but things take a turn for the worse when the murderer sets his sights on Lee and a cure for his condition which he believes her to be harboring. Their situation is further complicated by the fact that the killer isn’t even human. Neither is Jamison

  ISBN: 978-1-61929-094-5

  eISBN: 978-1-61929-095-2

  Available From these e-tailers:

  Amazon

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